


what i do best

by glespa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awesome Molly Weasley, Gen, but she makes an even better mum, molly makes great sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glespa/pseuds/glespa
Summary: Rumour has it, Molly Weasley makes the best sweaters. And don’t Slytherins deserve the best?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	what i do best

Rumour has it, Molly Weasley makes the best sweaters. 

Little William Weasley comes to Hogwarts with a new set of robes and his father’s old trunk. He thinks of his brothers at home, likely fighting over dinner by now on his second night at Hogwarts, and tries to be brave. But the castle is big, the halls are scary, and the students are loud. He runs upstairs and pulls the deep purple sweater embroidered with a W on it (“For William, and Weasley”) and breathes in the scent of the Burrow. 

Charlie Weasley arrives two years later. His big brother Bill has promised to show him around, but he knows Bill has his own friends now. He packs himself three Weasley sweaters, saddened that his arms have grown too long for the rest of them he’s collected over the years. Charlie yanks open his trunk (a slightly battered one from the second hand shop) on the Hogwarts Express and hunts for it, seeking comfort as his family fades out of view, his little brother Ron likely still sniffling and clutching his baby sister’s hand. Two other students come in to sit with him as he’s rummaging, and they feel, for the first time, the softness of the Weasley sweater. Charlie lets them pull on his spare ones, the three of them giggling at the C’s labelled on each one. 

Percy Weasley knows he’s going to do great things. He knows it, even if others don’t. Even if one of the upperclassmen bump him in the hallway and mutter _another Weasley,_ smirking at the trunk his big brother Bill has passed down to him, scorched with scuff marks. He holds his head high and tries not to think about it how embarrassed he is. Weeks later, as it begins to get colder, Percy pulls out the yellow sweater labelled P. In a bout of homesickness, one of the boys in his dorm admits that he wishes his mum had time to knit him sweaters like that, and Percy puffs his chest at the thought of the Weasley family having something others want. He offers, graciously, to let the boy borrow one of his spare sweaters. 

The legacy continues with Fred and George Weasley, who have come to Hogwarts to do something a bit different from their three older brothers. _Trouble,_ whisper the professors, although Minerva McGonagall seems to have a soft spot for them (for they remind her dearly of four of her old students, a long, long time ago). The twins come to Hogwarts with just one sweater each, because every year they manage to wear out their sweaters, some setting on fire from one of their pranks or catching on the edge of fences as they sneak around. Molly Weasley tuts, but her sweaters are meant to be worn and not folded away neatly, so she ruffles their hair and knits them new ones every year as usual. Fred and George switch sweaters as commonly as they play tricks, and their deep blue sweaters with bold yellow embroidery soon become a part of them. Girls giggled at their mischievous grins and sighed over how nicely the sweaters always fit over the twins. The day that Fred and George cause a glitter explosion in the Great Hall, exams have to be postponed for the cleanup. Madam Malkins receives an odd number of requests for embroidered sweaters that day, and she has to firmly (and bewilderedly) tell them she doesn’t make sweaters. 

By the time Ron Weasley arrives at Hogwarts, a bespeckled Harry Potter trailing behind him and a huffy brown-haired girl somewhere near them, the Weasley sweaters are as famous as their traditional red hair. 

Later, as Draco Malfoy mulls over Harry Potter’s refusal of his friendship, an upper-year says, jokingly, “you’ll never get a sweater now.” 

“Why would I want a sweater from the Weasleys?” snaps Draco Malfoy, looking to his friends. Most of them shrug, too. They’ve never heard anything good about the Weasleys from _their_ parents. 

“Weasley’s mother,” corrects Theodore Nott from the corner of the room. They all look to him. “What? My second cousin graduated with Charlie Weasley. She makes the best sweaters — handknit and everything. She sent him one, once. He said it was the softest thing he’s ever felt.” 

_Softest thing_ , scoffs Draco, patting his cashmere top. But he feels uncertain. 

Over breakfast, Millicent Bulstrode eyes the Weasley twins. They’re sporting blue sweaters with yellow embroidery. They do look soft. She thinks of her mother, turning her nose up at her daughter’s less-than-ideal physique, and turns back to her eggs. That night, she drafts a letter. 

Two weeks later, Millicent opens her post to see a pale pink sweater with an M embroidered on it. _Dear Millicent,_ writes Molly Weasley, _I hope you enjoy your sweater, despite it not being the color you requested. While black is certainly a slimming color, a beautiful young girl like you should be sporting something with just as beautiful of a color. Please do ignore your mother if she makes disparaging remarks. Know that there is more of you to love, and that is a blessing upon the world._

It doesn’t take long for the other Slytherins to notice. Pansy Parkinson gasps at the color, which compliment’s Millicent’s dark hair and eyes perfectly. Draco Malfoy scoffs, but leans forward with the other Slytherins to touch the sweater for himself. It is, inexplicably, the best thing he’s ever felt. 

That night, Arthur Weasley blinks as six owls descend outside his bedroom window. “Molly,” he calls, reading the post on all of them. “These are all for you.”

His wife pauses, and slips into bed next to him to read the letters. Over her shoulder, Arthur Weasley frowns. “Did you knit someone a sweater, dear?” 

“For little Millicent Bulstrode,” says Molly, keeping her eyes on the post. “That poor little girl. I knew Belinda, always obsessed with her looks. It must be terrible pressure.” 

Theodore Nott has written to inquire about the possibility of receiving a sweater. He’s cousins with Violet, whom Molly recognizes as one of Charlie’s best friends. He wants to know if it’s true that the sweaters cure homesickness. Blaise Zabini’s letter is much more formal, but she hears the longing in his words as he explains that his mother is far too busy of a woman to do something like that for him or remember to send him winter clothes as the weather turns. He arrived at the train station himself, she recalls suddenly. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle have heard that her sweaters have magical properties, and wonder if she could please knit them something that would make them smarter so they’d stop disappointing their parents. Pansy Parkinson asks for something even more flattering than Millicent’s sweater, so that she can prove to Draco Malfoy’s parents that she’s pretty enough to marry him out of all the other eligible girls. Draco Malfoy himself wants to know if she really knits the softest sweaters ever. 

“You’re really going to knit them all a sweater?” asks her husband in amusement, though he thinks he knows the answer already. 

“Not all of them,” says Molly, turning to flick off the lights. After all, she still has Ron’s sweater to knit before Christmas, and little Harry Potter’s. 

Blaise Zabini receives his sweater, first. It comes during breakfast, the old, weak owl swooping down the Great Hall. 

“Errol’s gone mad,” says Ron Weasley to his friend Harry. “Where’s he going with that post?” 

Blaise starts to put the package away, but Pansy leans across the table and begs him to open it. He pulls on the twine to reveal a light gray sweater. _A very tasteful color for such a sophisticated young man who will undoubtedly make his parents proud. Be a child while you can, and know you are loved,_ writes Molly Weasley. Blaise lets Draco yank the sweater from his hands, holding it up to inspect, and smiles slightly. 

Vincent and Gregory receive their sweaters at the same time, right before Christmas. They come running into the Slytherin Common Room, bursting with excitement. Their sweaters are a matching bright orange. _Know you have each other_ , writes Molly Weasley. _and your friends to lean on. May these bright colors help you remember that you stand out just as you are, and that you are enough as you are._

Pansy’s comes at Christmas. Hers is a light purple, which her and Millicent squeal over. She pulls it on as Millicent, pink-sweatered, reads her card. _A color to complement your friend’s,_ reads Millicent. _For other women are not your competition, and girlfriends are even better than boyfriends for the most time._ Pansy beams and pulls Millicent close. 

Theodore gets his a week after he gets back to Hogwarts after Christmas break. His sweater is a soft beige, slightly darker than the color of fresh snow. _I know homesickness well, in my years at Hogwarts. Nothing beats running into my mother and father’s embrace after a long semester, and I am sure that is the case for you as well. Until then, I hope this will suffice._ That night, Theodore wraps the sweater around himself like a hug and soaks it in. 

They all wear their sweaters to breakfast the next day. The Weasley brothers blink over at the Gryffindor table, and Fred leans over to ask Percy, “did Mum adopt a couple more brothers while we weren’t watching?”

Draco Malfoy, sitting in between orange-clad Vincent and Gregory, scowls. 

“Maybe it’s because I didn’t enclose money in my letter,” he says after a few days, upset enough to finally voice his disappointment. 

“No,” says Blaise from his bed. “I tried to send her money after, and she sent it right back.”

“She took the flowers I sent her,” pipes up Millicent, snuggled up between Pansy and Theodore on the latter’s bed. “Pansy helped me pick them out.” 

But Draco Malfoy is not stupid. He knows the Weasleys don’t accept charity, no matter how many times he’s sneered about it. There is a reason Crabbe and Goyle’s parents told them to follow him. There’s a reason why he knows there will be a line of offers once he is old enough to begin looking at marriage prospects. And he’s watched his father conduct enough business to know that a burnt bridge can’t be used. 

After two months of hesitating and turning over words in his head, Draco Malfoy steps up to the Gryffindor table as Harry, Ron, and Hermione are leaving. “Weasley,” he calls, slightly regretting it when the other Weasley brothers turn their heads as well from a few seats down. 

The youngest one turns and scowls when he sees who it is. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“I wanted to,” says Draco quickly but still having to pause. He wants to say it quickly, before he thinks on it any longer, but it does not come naturally. Not at all. “I wanted to apologize.”

The redhead’s eyes widen in a bout of shock, before smoothing it over. “For what?”

“For what I said about your family,” recites Draco, remembering what he’s practiced. “It was rude of me to do so. A-and for making fun of your friends.” That one’s a little harder, with Potter glaring at him next to Weasley. “And for insulting your mother.” That one’s easier. 

“When did you insult my mother?” says Weasley, bewildered.

“I wrote her a letter,” says Draco. “I-I don’t think I said anything she would have taken offense to. But Theodore says I should cover all my spaces.”

“Bases,” says Granger.

“What?”

“It’s ‘cover your bases,’” she says. “It’s a muggle saying.” 

It takes a lot of his willpower not to snap at her. He just nods. 

Weasley’s face has taken on something Draco can only process as contemplative. “Is this because your friends have all gotten sweaters and you haven’t?” he says suspiciously. 

Draco thinks about it. _Yes_ is his first, instinctual response. But, “No,” he says quietly, picking at his fingers. It’s a habit he thought he stopped a while ago, but the entire encounter is making him incredibly uncomfortable. “Maybe at first. But — she writes cards for every sweater she writes. Advice, or something. I don’t know. It makes them feel better. So. I won’t write to ask for another sweater,” says Draco quickly, his ears starting to burn. “I just wanted to say...”

He can’t finish the rest of his apology, but Weasley doesn’t seem to expect him to. He stares for a little more, then shrugs and turns to go. “Fine.” 

Later, when Draco still has his head under his pillow and is trying to think away the event, Blaise asks, “You’re really not going to write to ask for another one?”

“No,” says Draco, his voice heavily muffled. He wants one, so badly he doesn’t know what he’ll do. His friends have never had something first, much less something he wanted and couldn’t get. And if he’s being honest — _truly_ honest with himself, like the kind of honesty you only admit to yourself at three in the morning and bury deep inside — he wants what the Weasleys have. He wants two older twins to bother him the way he sees Fred and George do to Ron. He wants an older brother to prattle and guide him the way Percy does for Ron, no matter how unwillingly the younger Weasley takes it. And most importantly, he wants to walk into a room and know family, rather than allies. 

But he does not write Molly Weasley again. Draco doesn’t think he can take rejection twice over. His pride is still there, fluttering and clawing its way back. 

The semester comes to a close not long after. The days grow hotter and hotter, until sweaters are packed away into trunks. If one of them pulls out the sweater at night on a particularly bad day, no one says anything of it. 

On the last day of class, Draco Malfoy climbs the stairs to his dormitory and finds a brown package tied together with twine. He pulls at the string until it comes apart to reveal a deep emerald color, embroidered with a white D. There is no card, but Draco does not need one. Molly Weasley seems to know that, too. 

Maybe nothing comes of this. Maybe, after the year ends, the Slytherins go home and keep their sweaters packed in their trunks in case their parents catch a glimpse until they grow out of it anyway. 

Yet, perhaps, when Marcus Flint begins to sneer at a young Ginny Weasley for her worn-out shoes, Blaise Zabini cancels his levitation spell and drops his shiny new trunk on his foot. Perhaps when Adrian Pucey hits Hermione Granger with a spell that accentuates her buck teeth, Draco Malfoy glares at his godfather until Severus Snape draws his wand and removes the spell. And years later, perhaps the Inquisitorial Squad comes face-to-face with Potter and his friends when a certain toad calls for their head, and somehow still comes up empty. 

Molly Weasley receives noteless gifts from time to time. A tasteful scarf that seems to match the shade of grey Blaise Zabini is known to favor. Light purple silk pillowcases from a brand she loves but knows is too expensive. A pair of obnoxiously orange fuzzy slippers. A white cashmere cardigan from a sold-out collection in Italy. 

And if over the years the gifts become something more important — say, necklaces with protective runes? Tip-offs recommending they move to a nicer home the night Death Eaters attack the Burrow? — then who is she to question them? 

Her children don’t seem to understand it either. Bill Weasley gets sent nine sets of necklaces with protective runes and passes them out to each Weasley after checking them for curses, bewildered. Fred and George Weasley check their experiments to find a couple extra potions sitting to the side, most of them rare and expensive. Hours before Death Eaters set the Burrow on fire, Ronald Weasley receives a letter encouraging him to move to a nicer home. Through it all, Molly Weasley watches and remembers. And she does what she does best, of course. She knits.

**Author's Note:**

> I've hemmed and hawed over publishing this because I wasn't sure if it was my best work. I've never written anything quite as light hearted as this (although arguably it's got a bit of angst and is not as fluffy as you can go), but the idea popped into my head and got away from me there.  
> I've been in a bit of a writing rut, unable to finish whatever I try to start. And I'm a bit unsatisfied with this, but I figure writing something is better than nothing. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. And if it's not too late, happy new year! 
> 
> -sam


End file.
